


Draco Malfoy and the Eighth Year Disaster

by Incarnation_of_Satan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cute, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Slytherins Being Slytherins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:02:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28195134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Incarnation_of_Satan/pseuds/Incarnation_of_Satan
Summary: Drarry eighth-year fanfiction.Could be read as a short story or as a collection of one-shots.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 5
Kudos: 41





	1. The Shots Game

The Slytherins- as many as were willing to- were crowded in the common room, stood around a few crates' worth of fire whiskeys (butterbeers for the young 'uns). Hushed whispers and murmured conversations filled the room.

Pansy and Blaise stepped forward. Silence fell over the group. "We have gathered you here tonight to play a- a game, of sorts," Blaise began. "It's a drinking game, as we announced when we asked you all to gather, so we'd just like all of your consent so no one can accuse us of forcing you to do underage drinking or alcohol poisoning or anything like that."

The group nodded; one person (perhaps a third year?) stepped forward. "What makes you assume we'd drink so much we'd get alcohol poisoning?" they asked.

A wicked smirk came upon Pansy's face. "Well, this is where it gets interesting. See, the game revolves around our beloved Draco here-" she pulled him from the edge of the clearing, where he'd been lurking on the fringes of the crowd, and to her side, where he was met with cheers and amicable groans- "and his well-known crush on one Harry James Potter."

Immediately, Draco began to protest, but his voice was swallowed up by the unbelievably loud reaction from the crowd- for the most part, just one big, unanimous groan. Not at Harry Potter himself, no; at the mention of _Draco_ being the one to talk about him.

Even the few firsties gathered, who had only been attending Hogwarts for a couple of months, groaned with the older students, far more accustomed to Draco and how he could drone and whinge and whine and moan on and on and _on_ about Saint _bloody_ Potter for hours on end.

But, yes; the Slytherins were well-accustomed to Draco's ways. Even when their noises of unintelligible _I'm_ - _done_ - _with_ - _him_ finished, Draco was still protesting that he was " _not_ in love with Potter, how could you even _insinuate_ such a thing, Pansy, I thought I was your _friend"_ \- and that brought on another round of groans, obviously.

Pansy eventually took pity on the group. "Alright, darling, shut up now. Yes, this game is called "We Will Actually Die of Alcohol Poisoning Before Draco Admits his Crush on Potter", or "W.W.A.D.o.A.P.B.D.A.h.C.o.P" to keep it a secret when talked about with others present. The only rules of the game are that every time Draco mentions our beloved Lord and Saviour, every person playing the game who is within earshot of the conversation has to take a shot. The game will last until midnight. Any questions?"

"Yeah, how do we win?"

"Good question. Uhh... Blaise?"

"Well, considering how I think this will go... How about the standard "Last Man Standing" type thing? If you show up tomorrow at breakfast without alcohol poisoning, you win. Sound good?" "Brilliant, Blaise. Other questions? Yes, you, with the freckles."

"Whadda we get if we win?"

"Bragging rights. Until the next time we play this game. Proof you have a high alcohol tolerance. This'll probably be the biggest drinking event of a single house in Hogwarts history, so you'll get your name down in the Student Stories history book, too. Bragging rights forever as the first victor of W.W.A.D.o.A.P.B.D.A.h.C.o.P. Any other questions? No, Draco, you don't get to say anything. Right then, that's it. This is your last chance to back out. Everyone staying?"

Nobody moved.

"Good. You all need to come get a bottle and a shot glass, and then the game starts as soon as you leave the room. Blaise and I have put up special ward-type bits of magic; if you consented to the rules when we asked earlier, you'll have to take a shot from your drink. Your personal shot glass won't go away until you drink, and it's charmed so that if you don't take a shot, you just have to do more later. Your bottle is directly connected to barrels at Hogsmeade, so don't worry about refills. The bottle also won't pour unless you've actually heard Draco talking about Potter. Don't ask; it's all a bit complicated and Draco actually did all the work without knowing what he was doing it for while Blaise and I listened."

" _Pansy_! _That's_ what that was for! I'm going to _strangle_ you- no, really- come _here_ , you-"

"No, no, no. Sit down, Draco. Right, everyone happy? Game starts when you leave. Ready, get set, _go_! And may the best Slytherin win."

The next morning, the Golden trio walked into the Great Hall happy as usual. Ron and Harry were discussing Quidditch tactics while Hermione read her newest book- something about a cupboard and a secret world and some sort of talking lion.

Harry had had enough of cupboards before he was even _at_ Hogwarts, let alone now he was in his eighth year here. He certainly wouldn't be reading _books_ about them, no matter _what_ was inside. From his experience, it was just dust and spiderwebs, anyway. It wasn't until they'd seated themselves as they usually did- Ron and Harry sat facing the far side of the Hall, the Ravenclaw and Slytherin Tables, with Hermione opposite them facing the Hufflepuff table, that Harry even noticed anything was wrong. "Guys, does it seem- quieter than usual?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah, I thought so too, but I wasn't sure... Are there a lot of people off? We're in winter now, so maybe there's a cold going around..." Ron replied.

" _Oh_. Guys, you won't _believe_ this! It's _actually_ Malfoy this time." Harry was delighted. It was _never_ Malfoy (apart from sixth year), but now it _had_ to be!

" _Harry_ , we've been over this. It's _not_ , and you need to stop this obsession-"

"No, uh, Hermione, I think he's right."

"Oh, Ronald, not you too-"

"'Mione. Look at the Slytherin table."

Hermione turned around. "Oh my god. It actually _is_ Malfoy."

And it was.

For sat there at the Slytherin table, facing the rest of the Hall, was Draco Malfoy. But it was _just_ Draco Malfoy. The rest of the table was entirely empty. He saw the trio looking his way, obviously at him (there was no one else to look at) sneered, and muttered something about it being "all bloody _Potter's_ fault", audible even two tables over. 

Harry frowned, and was about to shout something scathing back at Malfoy when two odd things happened all at once. The Great Hall door burst open, and Madame Pomfrey charged in, hands on her hips and saying, "Never in my _life_ , Severus, never _once_ seen such a terrible incident. _All_ _but_ _one_! _All_ but _one_ of your students in my hospital wing, with _alcohol_ _poisoning_! How did they even _get_ enough alcohol to all get sick?!"

As she was saying this, Snape (who had groaned as Malfoy had muttered that everything was Harry's fault) looked at Madame Pomfrey, Harry, and then stared at Draco as he took up his very own- was that a _shot_ _glass?_!- and- oh, Merlin.

Well, _that_ set Madame Pomfrey off. She started berating Snape (who looked already hungover and drunk, and had his hands over his ears to block out the noise) for such terrible manners and terrible control of his students, and then Pansy, Blaise and about fifteen other Slytherins came wobbling into the great hall, giggling and crying and heading in the general direction of Malfoy. They were warbling a- a song?

_"Draco, Draco, wake up and seeeeeeeeee_

_You and Potter were just meant to beeeeeeeee_

_You won't shut up about him_

_You'd prob'ly die without him_

_When he's gone you always miss him_

_Please just man up and kiss him._ " And, as one, they turned and left the hall, still reprising their little song and laughing drunkenly, although one stopped on the way out to vomit.

Draco had turned red, Snape was- was he _laughing_? he looked to be in pain- and Harry was confused.

Draco felt the eyes of every person in the Great Hall on him; he stood and walked out of the Hall with as much dignity as he could muster, carefully avoiding the sick. He let the doors close behind him and with a swish of his robes, he set off for the Slytherin dorm rooms, hopefully where Death would take pity on him and just kill him.


	2. I Bet You 10 Galleons (you can't get Draco Malfoy to confess his love for Potter)

A few weeks had passed since the Drinking Incident (as it had been dubbed, and would be remembered from then onwards in Hogwarts History.) The Slytherins had been rather quiet- as quiet as Slytherins get, anyways.

It was a normal day in the Great Hall, where the Slytherins were sat eating breakfast, trying to block out the noise of Draco (who had not learned his lesson in the slightest) droning on about Potter. _Again_. What even was he _on_ about at this time in the morning?

"-ansy, look, he just got eggs again, that means he's getting ready to exercise, d'you think I could go for a run too? Maybe trip him up? Oh, now he's stealing from-" cue the sneer and unanimous groan from the Slytherins- "the Weaslette. She's _terrible_ , Pansy, I don't know _why_ he settles for her- I mean, just look at her _hair_! It's so wiry. It's probably really dry. Mine must be so much softer than hers, don't you think? And oh, her skin! It's so... _blemished_. So many freckles. _Everywhere_. I bet she even has them on her feet. And she's, like, pasty pale. I, on the other hand, am creamy-skinned. Don't you think?"

Pansy thought that if Draco didn't shut up soon, he'd be _Levicorpus'd_ over to his dear Potter so Pansy could eat her breakfast in peace. "But, really, I'm so much better than the Weaslette. _And_ I'm _gay_. Pansy, is Potter gay? I _bet_ he is. He practically stalked me all through sixth year, didn't he? I heard his friends say he never shuts up about me. Imagine _that_ , Pans-" The Slytherin table, and Snape up at the teacher's table, as a whole, pushed their plates aside and hit their heads on the table.

The rest of the hall looked up at the loud bang, and saw the whole table, heads down, as Draco Malfoy continued to talk. "Come now, Pans, let's go for that run, shall we? Tut tut, up we go. Right, you are _not_ running in those. C'mon, let's go." Every single Slytherin and most of the Gryffindors watched as Draco sashayed out of the Hall, and every single pair of those eyes watched how Harry Potter didn't take his eyes off of Draco until the doors slammed shut. 

Theodore Nott turned to Blaise. "I bet you 10 galleons you can't get Draco to confess his love for Potter before the week is out."

"He's going to do that by himself, Nott."

"What, scared you're gonna lose the bett, Zabini?"

"As _if_! You're on."

That evening, as Draco was walking down to the dungeons, he and Pansy passed a group of Slytherins, who had been waiting uncomfortably behind a pillar for half an hour for Draco and Pansy to arrive. The group followed them quietly down to the dungeons, not paying much attention to the quiet murmurs of conversation passing between Draco and Pansy.

Just as they neared the portrait for the Slytherin dungeons, Draco whirled around, wand bared and eyes glinting dangerously. The Slytherins were shoved up against a wall and restrained, ropes flying around them. At the same time, their wands all flew up out of their robes and into Draco's waiting hands. He caught one of them looking surprised, and asked, " _Blaise_?"

" _Bloody_ _hell_ , Draco! Merlin, I forgot how strong you are under that aristocratic, pompous persona. Yeah, it's me. Can you let us go?"

"Not yet. Why were you following us? Forgot how to get to the dungeons on your own?"

"Nope. It's just... Well, _you_ try to get in."

Draco strode up to the portrait, and said, confidently, "Pygmy Puffs." The portrait didn't move.

Uh oh.

He tried again. "Pygmy Puffs. Pygmy Puffs! Fluffy little pygmy puffs! Pink pygmy puffs, purple pygmy puffs, blue pygmy puffs- oh, Salazar, we're stuck."

" _We_?" 

"... aren't we? Oh. Zabini, tell me the password this very moment or I swear in the name of my father, I will-"

"Alright, alright. No use making empty threats. The password is, 'I'm in love with Harry Potter'."

" _Excuse_ _me_?!"

"You heard me. By the way, Theo, are you recording this?"

"Have been since they walked past us."

Draco's eyes took on a dangerous glint. "You... you want me to say-- _that_ \-- while you're _recording_ _me_?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

" _No_. You're _delusional_. As is I would say that on recording!"

"So you'd say it if we _weren't_ recording?" Draco went suspiciously pinker.

"No! Still no! You can't make me! I refuse. You know what? I'm going to do something else. I can pull an all-nighter tonight, it's Saturday. I'll sleep tomorrow. Goodbye, you lot. Good luck trying to get me to say- that!" And Draco turned and walked down the corridor, leaving the group giggling to themselves.

"Theo, you any good at sticking charms?" Blaise asked.

"No, he's terrible at them. I'm pretty good at them, though. What do you wanna do? Stick Draco and Potter together?"

"Pansy, that's a _brilliant_ idea. Not right now, though. I was thinking we should put the camera here-" he walked over to the portrait and pointed to the spot on the wall, at eye-level, next to it- "where Draco can clearly see it whenever he decides to come back. And we leave it recording, we all go sleep, comfortable in our dormitories, and tomorrow morning we come back and check the footage. Sound good?" The group nodded. "Cool. G'night, guys. Pansy, I entrust you the task of the sticking charm. Don't press this button here, or it'll stop recording. Right, night night! Sleep tight!"

After he wandered off, anger began to override Draco's embarrassment. He'd made his way outside at some point, and decided he would blow off some steam with a game of midnight Quidditch, and hone his seeker skills a little more. Yeah, that sounded good. And he hadn't flown properly on his own for the sake of it in a while- this would be nice.

Meanwhile, up in the Gryffindor dormitories, Harry awoke gasping for breath, from another nightmare.

The war was over, long over, but he still awoke like this nearly every day. He'd gotten into the habit of placing silencing charms around his bed before he went to sleep every night, and of drawing the curtains closed around his bed to hide his nightly struggles from his dorm-mates, all of whom had come back to Hogwarts for their eighth year.

He sat up, grabbed on his glasses, and pulled aside his covers and the drapes around his bed.

He wouldn't be getting back to sleep tonight. He pulled out the map, too; Filch was roaming the castle tonight, which ruled out wandering the corridors- oh, for God's _sake_.

There was Malfoy. Leaving the castle. Was giving his whole house alcohol poisoning not enough? Had it been too quiet for him?

Well, whatever nefarious plan he was scheming now, Harry would stop him. He was careful not to wake Ron as he left, since Ron would only tell him about how "the war was over and Malfoy had no reason to be doing this stuff anymore". Hermione was really rubbing off on him now they were together.

Harry shot one last look at the Map- oh, for the _love_ of- Filch was sat right outside the Gryffindor portrait. If Harry left now, he was sure to be caught.

_Ugh._

How else could he leave the Gryffindor tower without going through the Fat Lady's portrait? Really, Hogwarts should install fire escapes. This was _terrible_ design. They should at _least_ have those little hammer things you use to smash glass in case of emergency- wait.

Smash glass.

_Glass_.

Harry shot out of bed and down to the common room. Sure enough, the windows there stretched from floor to ceiling, providing a magnificent view of the grounds. Through them, he spotted a small shining pinprick of blonde hair. _Malfoy_! He was heading towards... the Quidditch pitches? _Oh_! He was going to ruin them so no one could play Quidditch! Yes, Harry needed to stop him. But how?

Oh.

Quidditch.

He raced back up the stairs, panting, and slid down onto the floor beside his bed as quietly as he could. He reached under the bed, feeling around for- there it was. He pulled out his Firebolt, still in good condition, and hurried back down to the common room. He was entirely unaware of the five pairs of eyes watching him, having been woken up by Hermione's wards she'd set to notify them whenever Harry left bed at night.

Hermione had managed to sneak up while Harry stared, motionless, out the window at Malfoy; she sat on Ron's bed, observing. Harry dashed around the common room, looking for a latch on a window, or a handle or _anything_ \- on the last one, the furthest to the left, he found one. It split the window in half, and was easily big enough for a person. " _Alohomora_ ," Harry whispered. There was a click, and then the window swung open away from him.

Unbeknownst to him, this triggered another ward- this time, it was Professor McGonagall's.

She shot up out of bed, readying her cushioning charms that lay, usually dormant, over the grounds of Hogwarts, waiting for something like this to happen. She watched through her window as a head of shaggy black hair popped out and looked around. The quick flash of bright green eyes were distinguishable, even from a distance.

Immediately, she began to panic as Harry clambered through the window. Surely he wouldn't _jump_? He was _Harry_ _Potter_!

She was too far away to do anything to stop him... she watched helplessly as he hung off the window ledge with one hand, the other holding his wand. She paled as he looked down, carelessly, at the long, long fall he would have if he dropped.

He pointed his wand back inside, and out flew- his broom? He hopped on, and let go of the ledge.

McGonagall nearly collapsed in relief as she realised what he was doing. He'd looked so much like James, hanging from the ledge, doing something so stupid and risky.

As Harry soared away from Gryffindor tower, McGonagall was sure to shoot a charm in the general vicinity of the window to stop anyone from shutting it, and closing Harry's way back in. She didn't, however, deflate the cushioning charms; this was Harry James Potter, and with his luck, he'd do brilliantly and not fall off his broom _once_ until he tried to climb back into the Tower, whereupon he would accidentally slip and fall.

McGonagall returned to bed with a self-indulgent smile on her lips.

Harry loved flying. He loved how the wind whistled through his hair, how it beat against his skin and whipped through his clothes, tearing away the sweat he worked up when flying. He loved how the broom seemed alive, responding to his slightest commands. So intuitive, like it was meant for him, like it was a _part_ of him.

He loved the way that flying now, at night, the stars and the moon were the only light, bathing the world in an effervescent glow. He loved how his heart beat like a drum, pounding through his veins.

He loved how- oh, Merlin, there was Malfoy. His platinum-blonde hair was easily distinguishable from the rest of the dark night. He looked rather delicate, so pale and pretty on his broom, hovering above the Quidditch pitches. He looked so... relaxed. He hadn't seen Harry yet, then.

And then Harry remembered why he was out here- it was a good stress reliever after a nightmare, but apart from that, Malfoy was up to something. That got harder and harder to believe, though, as Harry drifted closer.

Malfoy was lying down on his broom, legs dangling down and arms up under his head as a pillow. He looked so peaceful like that, like there hadn't been a war, like there hadn't been all that death and hatred. His Dark Mark was hidden under his shirt sleeves, Harry presumed, because he couldn't see it. He could only see his silky-looking hair and his soft, pale skin, stretching up his neck, and his high cheekbones and the contrast of Malfoy's white shirt against his dark trousers and his black leather shoes, and - _honestly_ , hadn't he bothered to _change_? But then again, Harry was in his ratty old pyjamas from Dudley, finally fitting a little better but still not quite right around the waist, and his newest jumper from Mrs. Weasley, a pretty burgundy with a golden H. Very, very Gryffindor, and very, very pretty. Really comfortable, too.

Harry was startled out of his thoughts when Malfoy suddenly sat up, leaned forward, and took off away from Harry at an alarming speed, all in one fluid motion. He reached the other end of the pitch from where he had previously been residing before he turned, flipping around his broom so the tail went out in a big arc to face Harry. His muscles were drawn and tight, and he had his wand in his hand- where did that come from? Harry, meanwhile, blinked, as Malfoy rounded on him- and groaned.

"For Merlin's _sake_ , Potter! _Must_ you?!" Draco asked, sounding rather exasperated. Harry blinked again, confused. Malfoy muttered something about " _useless_ " and "utter _idiot_ " and "ruins _everything_ ". "I came out here because my friends are _idiots_ and not very good friends and I'm locked out of the Dungeons, basically, and it's _your_ fault, and I wanted to be alone and now _you_ show up. Honestly, of _all_ _people_!" Harry blinked again. That didn't sound like Malfoy scheming to- to blow up the Quidditch pitch. 

"Well, er, I could go get a snitch or something and stay away from you? It's a good night for Quidditch, I don't really wanna waste it." Malfoy waved Harry away with a roll of his eyes. Harry sighed, but flew down to the Quidditch sheds, where all the Quidditch equipment was. He pulled out the case Oliver Wood had shown him, back in first year, and opened it to find the snitch's compartment empty.

Huh.

Maybe it hadn't been replaced since the last game? " _Accio_ snitch!" He called. That was sure to work. Might take a while, though. He draped himself over his broom, sending the case of Quidditch balls back into the shed and shutting the door with a flick of his wand. Just as he turned around to take a lap of the pitch, a small golden ball flew up to his face. "Whoa!" he cried.

The snitch hovered right in front of his nose. 

It looked rather... Familiar, so close up.

In fact, it looked far, _far_ too familiar. Harry was pretty sure he had spent countless hours staring at this very snitch. Just to be sure, he pressed his lips against it.

The cold metal was a shock, but has he pulled away the snitch unfurled its wings in his gloved hands, and the message displayed itself.

_I open at the close._

Oh, Merlin, Harry was _not_ ready to deal with this right now, not when he could feel Malfoy's gaze on him, not when his broom was underneath him and ready to go, not when he was itching for a game of Quidditch to chase away the nightmares of forests and curses and flashes of green and red, blood and death, red snake eyes and serpents and swords and a station, entirely white, empty of trains and devoid of life- Harry slipped off of his broom onto the grass, curling in on himself. He felt his breathing accelerating; distantly heard his own gasps for air. He could feel his blood, pounding through his body, could hear his heart in his ears.

He was only faintly aware of Malfoy calling his name, sounding almost _worried_. 

He was entirely unaware of Ron _accio-_ ing his broom, already headed to the window Harry had used to escape.

His world had narrowed down to himself and this tiny, tiny ball of gold, thrumming under his fingertips, familiar from a game of his youth, and from the very last moments of his life.

_I open at the close._

"I am ready to die," Harry whispered.

He didn't hear Malfoy's sharp intake of breath next to him, didn't see how the hand he'd been reaching towards Harry jerked away.

He didn't see Ron and Hermione, soaring towards him on Ron's broom, calling his name, didn't hear Malfoy calling for them, didn't hear the panic in his voice as he told them what Harry had said.

Didn't notice as they settled, as a three, around him.

"I am ready to die," he said again, pulling the snitch closer to his lips, so that Hermione and Ron finally took notice of it.

He didn't see Malfoy's confusion as to why, when they saw the snitch, Hermione and Ron froze, then looked towards Harry to confirm it was the snitch they thought it was. All four of them watched as the snitch's surface turned and changed until it opened, revealing a small, open space where a stone once sat.

Harry smiled sadly. "I faced Death like an old friend," Harry told the snitch quietly. "I didn't want to die."

Confusion again from the group around him; Harry spoke over them. "I don't want to die." A sherbert lemon, small and round, appeared in the snitch. Harry looked down at it and smiled.

When, hours and hours later, Draco returned to the portrait hiding the Slytherins from him, he looked straight at the camera as he said, "I'm in love with Harry Potter." He didn't mean it, but after seeing how Potter had rebounded from what looked to have been a PTSD attack, gone from curled up in the fetal position on the grass to smiling to laughing and soaring through the sky after the snitch, he was pretty sure he didn't _hate_ the boy.

Pretty sure.

He _definitely_ didn't envy him and what he'd had to do- he'd learned about all that while the Golden Trio attempted to piece Potter back together.

No, Draco Malfoy didn't love Harry Potter.

But he no longer despised him, either.


	3. How Long Can You Get Draco Malfoy to Talk About Harry Potter? (Current record: 6 hours, 23 minutes and 18 seconds)

_This_ game began sometime in the middle of fourth year, when Draco just wouldn't shut up about Potter in the tournament and the dragons and his badges.

Pansy started it as a game just for her, to try and entertain herself while letting Draco talk about what he wanted to- Potter. Blaise quickly caught on and joined in, and soon the rest of the Slytherins did, too. Occasionally, even Snape would give prompts on how to antagonise Draco into talking more whenever a group of Slytherins were getting close to beating the record.

The record was recorded on a little yellow erasable post-it note, enchanted to never fall down, and was stuck on the notice board in the Slytherin common room. To Draco specifically, it was nothing more than a reminder to somebody that Quidditch practice was on Thursday; it was a pitifully simple concealment charm, and applied only to Draco. He could probably break it with ease if he knew it was there. So the players of the game were careful not to let slip the true contents of the note.

As Pansy stood next to Draco, admiring the newest additions to the board and seeing if Snape had added anything, she let her eyes flicker over to the Record. The eighth-year boys in Slytherin had had a sleepover last night; it wasn't a surprise that the time went up. It _was_ a surprise that it had jumped up a full _four_ _hours_ from where it previously stood at just over 2 hours; it was now at 6 hours, 23 minutes and 18 seconds. Dear _Merlin_ , what had they said to get Draco to talk that long about Potter non-stop? How had they managed to _endure_ him for that long?

Pansy had been the one to set the previous record, and at just half an hour she was struggling to keep concentrated and focused on her goal.

"Pans, look at that. Quidditch tournament next week, us against Gryffindor. I _bet_ I'll win against Potter _this_ time. He hasn't even practiced since Saturday! I bet he's rubbish."

"Why do you know when he last practiced, Draco?"

"I- well- I practice every day, like a _good_ sportsman, and I happened to see him practicing, and I haven't seen him out there since-"

But Draco was a little too flushed, and Pansy was having fun.

"Been _looking_ for him, have you?"

" _No_! Of course not! He's just- hard to miss, is all, what with that mess of black hair and those bright green eyes-"

"I see you spend a lot of time admiring him, then."

" _Pansy_! Ugh, you're _terrible_. I'm going to practice Quidditch for the tournament."

"Careful not to fall off your broom while you're looking for Potter!" Draco flipped her off over his shoulder as he strode over to the boys' dormitories to get changed.

Draco rose into the air. It was calm today; the winds were slow and warm, barely a brush against his cheek or a rustle of his equipment. His broom was warm under his hands, waiting for his commands. The ground slowly got smaller and more indistinct below him as he rose higher, the air cooling a few degrees. When he was so high he couldn't see the Hogwarts courtyard well enough to distinguish it from the section of roof over the Great Hall, he stopped.

Paused for a moment.

Let the wind fly through his hair.

He'd set up cushioning charms and other net charms to catch him as he was rising; spells to slow him, lighten him, catch him. Soften the blow if he fell. Merlin knew he'd fallen so many times before. He'd told Pansy he was out here practicing every day. Yeah, he was in the air on a broom, but... He wasn't practicing the truly _traditional_ Quidditch. (And so _what_ if he just happened to notice when Potter was and wasn't out practicing with him? He was just eyeing up- _no_!- _keeping_ _an_ _eye_ _on_ the opposition. As they say; keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.)

He leant back, feeling the adrenaline pump through his body.

Let the air rush over his robes. Something brushed by him- probably just his imagination. He closed his eyes, keeping a firm hold of his broom with one hand... And dropped.

It was brilliant!

Like he was flying!

He had done this before, and the feeling _never_ got old.

Now the wind was whipping through his hair, tearing at his robes, and he was flying, falling...

Above him, he heard a strangled shout of his name. What on earth? But he wouldn't let that distract him. After all, this was where he usually went wrong. He felt the lightening charm hit his body- so he was about a third of the way down.

He twisted his body- still holding the broom, eyes still shut tight- so he was facing the ground, falling like a skydiver. He spread out his legs and arms as he passed through a layer of slowing charms, and somehow- _somehow_ \- managed, against the wind- to force his broom out from his side to underneath him.

He opened his eyes, to make sure he wasn't sat backwards on it or anything, saw the ground hurtling towards him at an alarming rate ( _this_ was why he fell with his eyes closed for the majority of the time; when you saw the ground coming at you, you were liable to freeze up in fear. Draco knew this from experience. Madame Pomfrey hadn't been at _all_ happy.) and swung his body down over the broom fully, tilting upwards back towards the sky, but still falling, still sinking-

He pushed his weight towards the nose of the broom, saw something flash out of the air a few metres above him- a hand, coming out of thin air? Reaching towards him?- felt the very tail bristles of his broom sweep the ground- and he was off!

He hurtled away at the ground, such a quick contrast from hurtling towards it he felt dizzy. As he rose again, his leg brushed past something sort of scaly and rough- when he looked back, nothing was there.

He lowered himself to the ground. He kept up the glamours, the concealment charms that hid the little cylinder of space he used to practice this stunt, but added some silencing charms, around his little bubble of space as his feet touched solid ground.

And burst out laughing.

He was nearly crying; whooping with joy, grinning for all the world like he'd won his heart's desire, though there was no one there to see. He threw his hands in the air, pumped his fists, beaming all the while.

He sat there, hovering on his broom, half-stood up, celebrating, for a good ten minutes. He deserved it; he'd spent _months_ mastering that trick! Ever since he returned to Hogwarts for his eighth year and had been allowed to play Quidditch and own a broom again.

When he stepped off the broom, he fell face-first in a heap on the ground. The adrenaline had been a bit much; and his head was dizzy with victory. He could've sworn he heard a quiet snort, but, in his victory-clouded mind, he brushed it off as his own. Still smiling, he tried to get up and take a wobbly step; when he fell again, he resorted to just crawling back to the castle. Who cared if someone saw him? He'd just- he'd just performed that stunt! _Ooh_ , he could _bet_ he was the first person to master that trick. He'd _have_ to tell Pansy, and she could help him name it. But- he was just so dizzy with happiness! He felt so, so, happy. He made his way down to the dungeons, grinning all the way.

Meanwhile, a dark head of hair popped out from under a scaly-feeling blanket of fabric. Harry waited a minute before following Malfoy back into the castle. His nerves were still high as a Hufflepuff after watching Malfoy drop all that way. He'd nearly had a heart attack- he had even thrown off the invisibility cloak for a short while in a burst of desperation to stop Malfoy from falling. He had saved Malfoy's life last year; that effort wasn't going to be put to waste now! That didn't fully explain the rush of- what was it, _worry_?- he'd felt when he saw Malfoy let go of the broom.

Harry brushed it off.

He headed back up to the castle, up to Gryffindor tower, through the Fat Lady's portrait, and found Ron relaxing by the fire, Hermione resting her head on his lap. They really were cute together; Harry was glad they'd finally noticed each other's feelings after all this time. Upon closer inspection, the two were asleep. Harry decided he could wake them up and tell them about Malfoy's stupid stunt later.

Ginny, however, was very awake, sat talking with Luna in the corner of the common room. How she'd managed to sneak her girlfriend in- _again_ \- without McGonagall knowing, Harry really couldn't say.

But he _had_ to tell someone about Malfoy's stunt, or he might just explode. It'd been a really good trick- even _he_ had to admit that. Ginny could make up lost time with Luna later. As Harry was explaining what had happened to Ginny, her nodding along, he didn't notice Seamus and Dean behind him, holding a timer and a little yellow post-it note.

If Harry had happened to look over, for him the post-it note would've read, "Quidditch practice on Wednesday!" For everyone else, however, it read, "How long can you get Harry to talk about DM?" and underneath that, "Record: Over 7 hours".

Down in the Slytherin dungeons, Draco was nearing the portrait. When he saw the camera next to it, a little red flashing light, he stopped to give it an exasperated look. He sighed, and said, "I love Harry Potter." The portrait swung open, and with a shake of his head, Draco went to tell Pansy about his trick, excitement building once again. He didn't notice the second camera, hidden slightly to the left of the first one, in a little crook of the wall. He didn't notice that it was painted an obnoxiously Gryffindor red, either.

Or that _it_ was recording him, too. Harry, up in the Gryffindor dormitory, didn't hear a group of Gryffindors gasp in disbelief moments later, too absorbed in telling Ginny what had happened.

Ignorance was bliss.


	4. Lignum Aeturnus

Draco decided before he had even been stuck for an hour that, actually, he _did_ hate Harry Potter.

First of all, he was fully fed up of professing his love for Potter every time he wanted to enter the Slytherin Dungeons; second of all, he was fed up of sleeping in such an uncomfortable bed, with Potter; thirdly, he was absolutely fed up of Potter himself.

And _all_ of it was _Potter's_ fault.

It all began in Charms. 

So few students returned overall for their eighth year, they'd been put together in one slightly-larger-than-usual group for classes. This, of course, created problems with conflicting house rivalries and other problems with inter-house arguments; but none of the teachers wanted to split the class and deal with the eighth years for two hours.

So, Charms.

The class was sat in distinct quadrants, with very little merging. 

The Slytherins at the far back of the classroom; a mix of the few Hufflepuffs and then the Gryffindors sat in front of them; and the Ravenclaws crowded together at the front of the classroom.

The day of the incident, they had a cover teacher.

Flitwick was off (Merlin knew why) and the group had been given one of the newer teachers, employed after the war. The problem with these newer teachers was that most of them came solely for the opportunity to teach Potter. 

And, therefore, they would do anything he commanded.

This one was one of the weak-willed pansies that bent to Potter's every will.

So much so that she asked Potter what to teach the class.

Draco was silently fuming in his spot next to Pansy, running a quiet string of insults towards Potter and the teacher as she snickered every so often at something he said. Potter, meanwhile, was deliberating what to choose.

"The sticking charm?"

Draco opened his mouth in outrage to protest, but Pansy quietly silenced him before he could cause a disruption. 

The excuse of a teacher agreed with Potter immediately, obviously, and Draco prepared himself to spend an hour practicing something he'd mastered in first year. He wondered if he could cast the spell wordlessly. Since Pansy still hadn't un-silenced him, he supposed he'd find out.

The Golden Trio had somehow ended up in front of Draco when the students were picking seats. Well, not really. They'd arrived late to the class and the seats in front of Draco were the only ones left unoccupied (no one else was brave enough to sit in front of Draco, which he'd decided to take as a compliment). Now, Granger (sat in front of Blaise, a table over on Draco's left) stuck her hand up and asked, "Miss,"- Draco noticed the distinctly missing title of " _Professor_ "; oh, good, so he wasn't the _only_ one who acknowledged that these substitute teachers were idiots. "What will we be sticking together?"

"Um," the teacher said. Some Hufflepuff asked a different question and she turned away to answer them.

Granger threw her hands up in silent protest and anger, then muttered, "Fine. Guess I'll just stick everything."

"Ooh, that sounds fun," Pansy (on Draco's right) said. The two shared a little _look_ , the way girls often did, and then stood up unanimously and made their way over to the door.

Potter watched them go, frowned, turned fully around, and asked Draco, "What's the incantation for the sticking charm, again?"

"Potter, you're kidding me." Draco said- or tried to. His mouth open, but no sound came out. Bloody Pansy.

He instead mimed writing with a quill, then gestured at Potter. He never took unnecessary items to class, and they rarely ever did writing now in eighth year; just spells. Potter withdrew a quill and a piece of parchment from his bag and handed them to Draco, who wrote, 

_Pansy silenced me. Can't talk._

_Potter, honestly, you don't know the enchantment?_

Potter read what he wrote. "Malfoy, your handwriting is so curly. Er, no, I don't know it. Did we ever even _do_ a lesson on Sticking charms?"

_We did two, you numbskull. And **another** two on Permanent sticking charms._

"Er, right. And, the incantation is..?"

Draco rolled his eyes.

_Lignum Aeturnus._

"Right. What's the, er, wand movement?"

...

_I see why you aren't a Ravenclaw. It's-_

He paused writing, deliberating. Set the parchment down on the table- then realised that _no_ , that was a _stupid_ idea, he'd just have to unstick parchment later. 

_Give me your wand._

" _What_?!"

_My wand worked fine for you, and this replacement one I have at the moment isn't as good. Yours will probably work better for me._

Potter's eyes widened. "Oh, _shoot_ , I forgot to give your wand back. One sec- _Accio_ Malfoy's wand!" 

The two sat for a good twenty seconds before there was a yelp from outside. The door swung open, and in flew Draco's wand, as good as when he'd last seen it. Following it was Pansy.

"Why did your wand just nearly take my nose off?!" She asked. Potter sat there, holding Draco's wand in his hand, looking rather guilty. He hurriedly hid the wand behind his back, putting on the worst _it-wasn't-me_ facade Draco had ever seen. Pansy's glare landed on Potter and she narrowed her eyes and marched over to him. In an attempt to remove the condemning evidence from himself, Potter held the wand out to Draco behind his back. Draco took it; as he did, his fingers brushed Potter's. Pansy saw this, and shouted, " _Lignum_ _Aeturnus_!"

Draco felt his hand going sticky, and then the warmth of Potter's hand seemed to increase tenfold. Draco snatched his wand with his other hand, pointed at his throat, and thought the counter-curse for the silencing charm as forcefully as he could. He then whirled on Pansy, who was now stood, triumphantly. "Pansy, you _bint_! What- that's the _permanent_ sticking charm!" 

Potter's face morphed into one of horror. " _What_?!" He whirled around to face Hermione, who'd walked in after Pansy, unnoticed. "It's _not_ , is it?"

She gave him a pitiful smile that Draco could tell she didn't mean. "Sorry, Harry, it is."

So, in a desperate attempt, Harry turned back around to face Draco (pulling their attached hands over their heads) and said, "There's an antidote, right?"

"Yeah, thank Salazar. If there wasn't I might just have chopped my hand off. _Wait_. Shoot. _No_!"

Potter's face dropped. "What?" he asked, not seeming to want to know the answer.

Draco whacked his head down onto the desk, and looked mournfully at his hand, joined with Potter's. "It takes one month to brew, approximately, and another four to sit until it's non-toxic enough to drink," he groaned. Potter groaned along with him.

"It gets worse, Harry," Hermione interjected.

"No, it can't," Potter said.

"It can," Draco moaned. "The main ingredients can only be picked at the full moon, and I bet that Snape's supply is all out... When's the next full moon?"

"The last one was last night, actually."

"Five months?!" Potter exclaimed. "I can't stay stuck to Malfoy for- for nearly half a _year_!"

"My sentiments exactly." Draco stood up, dragging Potter with him. "Right, we're off. I can't get the ingredient needed to be collected by moonlight, but I can brew the rest of the potion up until it needs it. Come, Potter, and try not to get in the way _too_ badly."

After Draco had decided that yes, he _did_ hate Harry Potter, he was on the third attempt of the potion.

He and Potter didn't get to bed until after the tenth potion exploded. The eleventh, however, wasn't anywhere near as bad, and Draco deemed it passable.

Then came the problem of the bed.

Where to go?

The two argued (obviously) and came to the decision that they would sleep in Draco's bed every other night, and Potter's the rest of the time.

When they finally reached the dungeon entrance, Draco remembered what the password was.

No _way_ was he saying that in front of Potter.

Being a good Slytherin, he came up with an entirely plausible excuse.

"Wait, Potter, I don't want you to know the password. You already stalk me enough when I'm _not_ in there! Let's go sleep in your room."

"Oh, yeah. No. Good point, Malfoy, I don't want you knowing the password to the Gryffindor tower. Er... Let's ask McGonagall?"

Draco sighed. "Off we go, then."

"Swedish Fish," Potter told the gargoyle hiding the headmistress' office. It moved aside with a terrible screeching sound, revealing a long staircase. The two ascended at different paces; Potter was trying to take the steps three at a time, while Draco tried to take them one at a time. This resulted in the two tumbling over almost immediately. Draco wouldn't physically survive five months of this. He doubted he would stand five days. 

The boys entered the office together about five minutes later, grumbling at each other and both nursing many bruises. 

McGonagall wasn't even inside.

There was a perch, where a fully-feathered Fawkes trilled in greeting. On the desk was a considerably large jar on the desk, filled with- cat hairs?- and a box, which held a whole cat. Potter drew out a piece of parchment from his back pocket, muttered something at it, and opened it up. He frowned and said, "I don't understand. It says she's right here, on the desk." 

Draco looked over at the cat again, remembering that McGonagall was a- what was it called? An animagus. She'd shown their year her cat form multiple times over their time at Hogwarts.

He stepped forward. The cat looked up at him lazily. "Professor?" he asked. The cat flicked its tail and curled back up. "Bit rude," Draco muttered.

"Well, most cats don't have manners, since they don't understand English, Mr. Malfoy," said McGonagall, stepping out from behind a bookshelf, holding a thick volume. "What did you need, Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy?"

"A place to sleep," Potter said.

"Oh, has no one given you your room? Up the astronomy tower, the door at the back of the room. You'll find all of your belongings up there. You'll be staying for the next five months, and the classes we have now won't be doing stargazing until far later in the year. Wards are up, and you'll find all the commodities you might need up there already. Go on, then. I expect to see you both, _in_ _one_ _piece_ , at breakfast tomorrow."

That was a warning- _don't_ _fight_.

Draco had decided, after falling over Potter Merlin-knew-how-many-times on the way up the stairs, he would try and make peace with Potter so the next five months might actually be bearable already, though, so this was just encouragement.

Out of McGonagall's office, Draco turned to face Potter- as much as he could, considering their linked hands- and said, "To try and save us both from agony for the foreseeable future, I'm offering a restart. Not a truce, a full on re-do of everything. I'll start. Hello, my name is Draco Lucius Malfoy, I've grown up a lot more than people think since I was younger. You can call me Draco. Would you like to be my friend?"

Potter looked shocked. "Er, okay. Hello, I'm Harry Potter. Call me Harry. I'm far more human than everyone thinks, and I wake up with nightmares nearly every night. Um, sure, I'll be your friend."

Huh. Not the worst manners in the world. And he hadn't rejected Draco's offer immediately. Perhaps he could learn to live with Potter- Harry.

The astronomy tower itself was a struggle. The two just froze as soon as they reached the top of the staircase, looking at the place Dumbledore had fell. Potter- shoot, Harry- moved first. 

"C'mon, Malfo- Draco," he said, tugging gently on Draco's hand.

Draco, however, was stuck. His eyes wouldn't move from the spot Dumbledore had implored him to join the Light; his mind wouldn't move from the moment. 

Eventually, Pot- Harry pulled Draco hard enough to get him to move, though his feet felt planted to the ground. 

The two didn't speak to each other the rest of the night as they got themselves ready for and into bed.

When they walked into the Great Hall the next morning, there was an uproar.

People were just shouting in general, creating chaos and a cacophony of wild noise. When it didn't stop after a full three minutes, Draco decided he'd had enough. He turned around, marched out of the hall, dragging Harry along behind him, and headed off to the kitchens, where he ate a peaceful breakfast. No, he _didn't_ spill his tea over himself because he was drinking left-handed and he was right-handed; no matter _what_ Pott- Harry- thought he saw. _Delusional_ , he was.

Meanwhile, the Slytherins and Gryffindors found they were rather missing their two main leaders.

Draco went back and forth between the more positive mindset of _perhaps I can learn to stand you_ and the one of _if you don't stop breathing I will choke you myself_ so often the Slytherins started making a tally. They were bored without Draco providing entertainment and frustration; what were they supposed to do?

Harry also went back and forth between emotions faster than you could blink, especially after a nightmare when he was extra paranoid and vulnerable and defensive. All at the same time. The Gryffindors, bored without him, started a tally, too; they kept track of how many emotions Harry went through in one day, seeing who could record the highest amount. Draco ended up joining this competition when he heard about it; being with Harry all day, he obviously beat all the Gryffindors. Harry, in retaliation, joined the Slytherin's competition; thus, small inter-house friendships began to form.

Slowly, more Gryffindors started comparing their tallies and results with the Slytherins; the Slytherins started gravitating towards the Gryffindor tally-record-holder and, by extension, the Gryffindor table, at breaks and lunches. Both houses soon found that they had more common ground than just the tally competitions; they were both _absolutely_ fed up of Potter and Malfoy whining and pining after one another every day.

When they weren't told off for moving tables- in fact, they were encouraged to- a few other students stood and moved to other tables. Siblings, or childhood friends, separated by the Sorting Hat. 

The next day, even more students moved.

The third day, the students walked into the Great Hall and found that the tables were all moved into a big square; there were a few gaps between the tables, so students could sit on both sides of a table of their choosing; up above, house banners had been replaced with the Hogwarts crest and motto- _Draco_ _Dormiens_ _Nunquam_ _Titillandus_. 

By this time, the students had grown slightly used to the biggest nemesi of the school going around hand-in-hand, so Draco and Harry had started eating in the Hall again.

When Draco walked into the hall, before he even noticed the table arrangements, he nudged Potter and pointed at a banner. "Look, P- Harry, it's my name. The Hogwarts motto is based on me, did you know," he said.

"What does the whole inscription mean?"

"Don't get on Draco's bad side," Draco said boastfully. They'd arrived at the square arrangement of the tables, and sat next to each other.

"As if," Harry replied, but there was the slightest note of doubt in his voice. Obviously he hadn't read _Hogwarts_ , _A_ _History_ (the uncultured swine that he was), so Draco pushed it.

"Yeah, Salazar Slytherin had some vision of me, when he was making the school-"

Pansy, seating herself beside Draco, and Hermione, sitting across from Harry, both said, "Yeah, _right_. _Anyone_ who knows _anything_ knows that it means _Never_ _tickle_ _a_ _sleeping_ _Dragon_."

Potter frowned (he did that when he was confused. He frowned an awful lot of the time). "Draco, your name means Dragon?"

"Oh, Merlin. Harry- yes, _obviously_. What _else_ would it mean?"

"I- I don't know. My name is common, doesn't really mean anything-"

" _What_? Harry, have I never told you what your name means?" Granger- Hermione, she'd told Draco to call her- asked. 

Harry groaned, along with Weasley- Ron- sat next to him, but shook his head.

"Well, in-" 

"Oh, Granger, you'll talk so much he won't even listen. Potter, your name can mean lion in some languages; or ruler; sometimes hero, too. Guess you were meant to be the Saviour and a Gryffindor, then."

This was followed by talk of names and meanings; Grang- Hermione summoned a book after about ten minutes. She would ask it a name, and it would come up with a definition. Suddenly, _everyone_ wanted to know the meaning of their name. Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, Slytherins and Gryffindors crowded around the little corner-section of the four tables for the rest of breakfast; their next classes were spent comparing names and meanings.

Other little bits and bobs of conversation drew the houses together more and more; common ground found between them created a bridge and strengthened newly-made ties between the houses.

McGonagall watched on with a proud smile; in every major conversation that drew the houses together, Draco and Harry were in the center of it, without even meaning to be. Ruler, lion, hero, and dragon indeed.

While the houses bonded, Draco was working on the potion. It was tough, having a useless body attached to your dominant hand, but Draco managed. Potter was even occasionally helpful; having _his_ dominant hand free, he could do things like more precise cutting. He wouldn't shut up, though, constantly on about what was going on and what he was thinking. Still, the potion was now ready to sit and brew for three months; Draco had added the ingredient that grew only by moonlight, and he should only have to wait a while longer until he could separate from Harry.

While attached to him, he had gained a certain sort of... fondness for him, though. He was such an idiot, so oblivious... Actually, no, that was just annoying. But he was far better as a friend than he was as an arch-nemesis.

The next three months passed in a blur. There were fights, obviously, and smaller arguments, and even one near-duel; a few jelly-legs jinxes, too, but most against common enemies of the boys. 

They found they worked rather well together, in fact. Their weaknesses and strengths nicely contrasted and matched; potions and DADA they were very much terrible and brilliant at individually. They were scared and smart and hated and brave and ignorant and loved. Working together, and helping each other, they actually got the two highest grades in the year on average; on par with Hermione, who was doing even better than usual seeing as she was only coaching Ron and not Harry too. Also, Ron was excelling, now he had Hermione's sole focus. And, not having Draco and Harry being distracting every lesson, the rest of eighth year was getting better and better, too. 

The date of the potions' finish was drawing nearer. 

Harry and Draco had come so far they might even have called each other friends. 

They'd certainly been through a lot.

Draco had asked Harry for a fresh start; unfortunately, that wasn't wholly possible with both of them waking up from nightmares every other night, waking the other up with their struggling, and the nightmares being about the past.

Eventually, they sat down and had their talk.

"Harry, we need to talk about what we've been through," Draco said.

Harry had sighed. He'd known this was coming, but had still hoped to avoid it. "Yeah, I guess so. Where do we start?"

"Um, apologies, I suppose. I have already apologised to everyone else properly, but- there's just so much with you that I never wanted to approach the subject. 

"I'm sorry for insulting your parents, your parental figures, your friends, your mentors. I'm sorry for betraying you and all of your friends by joining Voldemort. I'm sorry for- the bathroom incident. In fact, I'm sorry for all of sixth year. 

"I'm sorry for being so horrible to you, even though all you did was reject my friendship, and it was because I really was a brat back then. I'm sorry for my prejudices and my anger and the arguments. 

"I am so, so sorry about this," he brushed his hand over where Harry's scar was, raised skin on his forehead, "And I know I couldn't have done anything to stop it, but I should've known it was terrible to be you. I'm sorry for being envious of your fame, I'm sorry for wanting what you have. I'm sorry for this, too," he said, brushing his fingers over the raised skin on Harry's hand that he received from detentions with Umbridge. "I'm sorry for the Inquisitorial Squad; and the DA; and for your Godfather. I'm sorry for hating the Weasleys because they loved you, and they showed it. I'm sorry for- I'm sorry for everything from the past seven years, pretty much," he finished, looking away and playing with his fingers. 

Harry reached out, enclosed Draco's hands in his, stopping his fidgeting. "Hey," he said, tilting Draco's chin up with the hand not linked to Draco's; when Draco's eyes met his, he smiled softly. "I forgave you for all of that a long time ago, Draco. And I have lots to be sorry for, too." The smile slipped off his face, replaced by a more serious expression. He didn't look away from Draco as he continued. "I'm sorry for judging you and hating you for only knowing one way of life; I'm sorry for never trying to see from your perspective, I'm sorry for never understanding that what you believed in was the only thing you knew.

"I'm sorry for judging and hating your family, for being so quick to hate you. I'm sorry for believing in one opinion I heard and hating a whole quarter of Hogwarts because of it.

"I'm sorry about the war; I'm sorry about you having to choose between your family and being a murderer and dying. I'm sorry I didn't try to offer you help of protection or any other way you could have escaped. 

"I'm sorry for the fiendfyre; for the deaths of anyone who you knew and held dear. I know that not many people get affection from you... I'm sorry for those who did that are- that are dead.

"I'm sorry I stalked you for all that time; I'm so, so sorry for these," he brushed his hand lightly down the front of Draco's shirt, where his faint scars from the Sectumsempra curse lay hidden; Draco startled, and Harry smiled sadly. "Yeah, I've seen. I am literally joined to you, Draco." His sad smile turned into a sad, hesitant expression. "I'm sorry for this, too," he said quietly, brushing the tips of his fingers over the top of where the Mark lay, dormant, on Draco's forearm.

They sat in silence a while, and then Draco said, "Thank you, Harry. I accept your apology. I hope you know that."

"Yeah," Harry said. "I hope you know that I accept yours, too. Thank you, Draco."

The potion finally finished. 

Draco poured the solution over his hand and Harry's.

A jolt of cold shot up his arm when he let go, and he immediately missed the warmth of Harry's hand; it'd become so normal in his life. He shivered, and saw Harry was doing the same, holding his hand close to his chest to try and warm it up. 

He watched for a few moments, and then-

very, very hesitantly-

he reached out

palm facing upwards

for Harry's hand.

Harry looked down,

and,

after only a moment,

took Draco's hand in his.

They walked into the Great Hall holding hands properly, and this time the uproar and the warmth in Draco's hand brought a smile to his face.


End file.
